I don’t mean like
going online to look for the pictures from her early ‘90s nudist
phase. I’m talking about looking at the 50-year-old sack of bones,
sinew and gristle that is the Madonna of today and saying, “I’d
hit it,” without a hint of irony.

That’s the image
that Hard Candy sells. But does anyone buy it?

The video for lead single
“4 Minutes” – in which Madonna and Justin Timberlake
express their sterile, robotic lust for each other through the magic of
interpretive dance – plays like an extravagantly budgeted MILF porn
that cuts off before the (supposedly) good parts. Everyone involved is
just going through the motions to collect a check, but hey! Sex! It sells,
right?

If Tom Jones did this
kind of thing with Carrie Underwood, the ocean itself wouldn’t be
able to contain the resultant worldwide pukealanche. But Madonna gets
a free pass.

It’s supremely creepy
that this woman is trying to con the world into believing that men who
are literally half her age would line up for miles around so that she
could grind their pelvises into dust. The whole charade reeks of a particularly
smelly brand of desperation.

But Madonna is nothing
if not a shrewd businesswoman. Perhaps she’s on to something here.

Major labels and their
acts are sinking like dinosaurs into the tar pits of the Internet. Maybe
the throngs of unimaginative gay men and milquetoast pseudo-feminists
who cling to her in their desperate quest for identity aren’t enough
to keep her afloat anymore. Maybe she’s using one of her infamous
image makeovers in order to break some new ground, audience-wise.

One needs only to check
out the album cover for evidence of her scheme.

By thrusting her half-century
old crotch at us while dressed as a horrifying amalgam of John Cena and
the Fabulous Moolah, Madonna seems to be trying to attract a demographic
previously untapped by the music industry: wrestling fans with Oedipal
yearnings.

World Wrestling Entertainment
pulls in millions of viewers each week. According to WWE’s corporate
Web site, their shows are consistently among the week’s top rated
programs for the 18 to 34-year-old male demographic. And since people
over the age of 12 who still enjoy watching gargantuan men in tights pretend
to fight clearly exist in at least a mild state of arrested development,
it’s a fair bet that a good number of them have some unresolved
mommy issues.

Kudos to Warner Bros.
for this fantastic display of niche marketing. It’s this kind of
plucky thinking that’ll keep the major label monolith alive for
years to come.

So, if you do the Five
Knuckle Shuffle while fantasizing about showing Mommy who da champ is,
rejoice! Your shameful existence finally has a soundtrack.

Hard Candy gets
a rating of one brooch and two puddles of blood, tears and vitreous humor.

(The views expressed
in this review are solely those of the author, and do not necessarily
reflect the views of The BEAST or its affiliates. We’d hit it.)